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BY 



FRANCES E. WATKINS HARPER. 




P 11 O V I 1) E >[ C K :. 
A. Cr;!V,ror(l Gr(;ene, Printer, Kailvoacl Tiali, : 



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F (3 E M S • 



FRANCES K WATMNS HARPER, 



PHILADELPHIA: 
MSRRIHSW is SON, PRINTERS, 

No, 135 North Third Street 
W1.1. 



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POEMS. 



LINES TO HON. THADDEUS STEVENS 

Have the bright and glowing visions 
Faded from thy longing sight, 

Like the gorgeous tints of ev'n 

Mingling with the shades of night? 

Didst thou hope to see thy country 

Wearing Justice as a crown, 
Standing foremost 'mid the nations 

Worthy of the world's renown ? 

Didst thou think thi^ grand fruition 
Reached the fullness of its time, 

When the crater of God's judgment 
Overflowed the nation's crime ? 

That thy people, purged by fire, 
Would have trod another path, 

Careful, lest their feet should stumble 
On the cinders of God's wrath ? 



J' OEMS, 

And again the injured negro 
Grind the dreadful mills of fate, 

Pressing out the fearful vintage 
Of the nation's scorn and hate ? 

Sadder than the crimson shadows 
Hung for years around our skies, 

Are the hopes so fondly cherished 
Fading now before thine eyes. 

Not in vain has been thy hoping, 

Though thy fair ideals fade, 
If, like one of God's tall aloes, 

Thou art rip'ning in the shade. 

There is light beyond the darkness, , 
Joy beyond the present pain ; 

There is hope in God's great justice. 
And the negro's rising brain. 

Though before the timid counsels 
Truth and Right may seem to fail, 

God hath bathed his sword in judgment, 
And his arm shall yet prevail. 



F E 4 A. 5 

AN APPEAL TO THE .A3I¥EI-^r^ N PEOPLE. 

When a dark and fearful st j .ff; 
Raged around the nation's life, 
And the traitor plunged his steel 
Where your quivering hearts could fr-el, 
When your cause did need a friend, 
We were faithful to the end. 

When we stood with bated breath, 
I'acmg fiery storms of death, 
And the war-cloud, red with wrath, 
Fiercely swept around our path. 
Did our hearts with terror quail ? 
Or our courage ever fail ? 

When the captive, wanting bread, 
Sought our poor and lowly shed. 
And the blood-hounds missed his way, 
Did we e'er his path betray ? 
Filled we not his heart with trust 
As we shared with him our crust? 

With your soldiers, side by side, 
Helped we turn the battle's tide, 
Till o'er ocean, stream and shore. 
Waved the rebel flag no more, 
And above the rescued sod 
Praises rose to freedom's God. 
1* 



P E M S. 

But to-day the traitor stands 
With the crimson on his hands, 
Scowling 'neath his brow of hate, 
On our weak and desolate, 
With the blood-rust on the knife 
Aimed at the nation's life. 

Asking you to weakly yield 

All we won upon the field, 

To ignore, on land and flood, 

All the offerings of our blood, 

And to write above our slain 

" They have fought and died in vain/' 

To your manhood we appeal, 
Lest the traitor's iron heel 
Grind and trample in the dust 
All our new-born hope and trust, 
And the name of freedom be 
Linked with bitter mockery. 



TRUTH. 



A PwOCK, for ages, stern and high. 
Stood frowning 'gainst the earth and sky, 
And never bowed his haughty crest 
AVhen angry storms around him })rest. 



POEMS, 

Mom springing from the arms of night 
Had often bathed kis brow with light, 
And kissed the shadows from his face 
With tender love and gentle grace. 

Day, pausing at the gates of rest, 
Smiled on him from the distant West, 
And from her throne the dark-browed Night 
Threw round his path her softest light. 
And yet he stood unmoved and proud, 
Kor love, nor wrath, his spirit bowed ; 
He bared his brow to every blast 
And scorned the tempest as it passed. 

One day a tiny, humble seed— ■ 
The keenest eye would hardly heed- 
Fell trembling at that stern rock's base^ 
And found a lowly hiding place. 
A ray of light, and drop of dew, 
Came with a message, kind and true ; 
They told her of the world so bright, 
Its love, its joy, and rosy light, 
And lured her from her hiding place, 
To gaze upon earth's glorious face. 

So, peeping timid from the ground, 
She clasped the ancient rock around, 
And climbing up with childish grace^ 
She held him with a close embrace ; 



Her cliogiug- was a thing of dread ; 
Where'er she touched a fissure spread^ 
And be v^-bo'd brea&ted many a storm 
Stood frowning tbere^ a mangled form ; 
So Truth dropped in the silent earth. 
May seem a thiag; of Uttle worth, 
Till, spreading vmiaa SiMA.e mighty wrong. 
It saps its pillars Uioud and strong. 



BEATH OF THE OLD SEA KING, 

^ WAS a fearful night — the tempest raved 

With loud and wrathful pride, 
The storm-king hariAes^sea nis iightiiing steetls^ 

And rode on the raging tide. 

The sea-king lay on his bed of death. 

Pale mourners around him bent, 
They knew the wild and iitfol life 

Of their chief was almost spent. 

His ear was growing dull in death 
When the angry storm be heard. 

The sluggish blood in the old man's veius 
With sudden vi^or stirred. 



/' E M S. 

*' I hear them call," cried the dyiDg man, 

His eyes grew full of light, 
" Now bring me here ray warrior robes, 

My sword and armor bright. 

" In the tempest's lull I heard a voice, 

I knew 't was Odin's call. 
The Valkyrs are gathering round my bed 

To lead me unto his hall. 

"Bear me unto my noblest ship, 

Light up a funeral pyre ; 
I'll walk to the palace of the braves 

Through a path of flame and fire." 

0! wild and bright was the stormy light 
That flashed from the old man's eye, 

As they bore him from the couch of deatn 
To his battle-ship to die. 

And lit with many a mournful torch 

The sea-king's dying bed. 
And like a banner fair and bright 

The flames around him spread. 

But they heard no cry of anguish 
Break through that fiery wall, 

With rigid brow and silent iips 
He was seeking Odin's hail 



lU FOEMS. 



Through a path of fearful splendor, 
While strong men held their breath, 

The brave old man went boldly forth 
And calmly talked with death. 



"LET THE LIGHT ENTER!" 

DYING WORDS OF GOETHE. 

Light ! more light ! the shadows deepen, 

And my life is ebbing low, 
Throw the windows widely open ! 

Light ! more light ! before I go. 

Softly let the balmy sunshine 

Play around my dying bed. 
E'er the dimly lighted valley 

I with lonely feet shall tread. 

Light! more light! for death is weaving 
Shadows round my waning sight, 

And I fain would gaze upon him 
Through a stream of earthly light. 

Not for greater gifts of genius, * 

Nor for thoughts more grandly bright, 

All the dying poet whispers 

Is a prayer for light, more light. 



/' E M !S. 11 



Heeds he not t\iQ gathered laurels, 
Fading slowly from his sight; 

All the poet's aspirations 

Centre in that prayer for light. 

Blessed Jesus, when our day dreams 

Melt and vanish from the sight, 
May our dim and longing vision 
Then be blessed with light, more li| 



YOUTH IN HEAVEN. ' 

** fn heaven fcue angels are advancing oontmaally to th© sfring-tim© 
o!f their youth, so th-^t the oldest angel appears the youBgest." 

Not for them the lengthening shadows 

Falling coldly round our lives, 
Nearer, nearer through the ages 

Life's new spring for them arrives. 

Not for them the doubt and anguish 

Of an old and loveless age, 
DroDDing sadly tears of sorrow 

On life's faded, blotted page. 

Not for them the mournful dimming 

Of the weary, tear-stained eye, 
That has seen the sad proce^siofl 

Of its dearest hopes go by. 



/' O E M S. 

Not for tliein the hopeless clingieg 
To life's worn 2indi. feeble strauds. 

Till the last has ceased to tremble 
In our aged, withered hands. 

Never lines of light and darkness 
Thread the brows forever fair, 

And the eldest of the angels 

Seems the youngest brother there. 

There the stream of life doth never 
Cross the mournful plains of deaths 

And the l>eariy gates are ever 
Closed against his icy breath. 



DEATH OF ZOMBI, 

THE CHIEF OI^ A NEGRO KINGDOM IN SOUTH 
AMERICA. 

Cruel i*i vens:eance, reckless in wrath, 
The hunters of men bore down on our path; 
Inhuman and fi'^'v^e, the offer thev ^ave 
Was ireedom in i]eath or the life of a slave. 
The cheek of the mother grew pallid with dread. 
As the tidings of evil around us were spread. 
And closer and closer she strained to her heart 
The children she feared they would sevc-r apart. 
The brows of our maidenD yrew '^]\.i,my and sad \ 



POEMS. 13 

Hot tears burst from eyes once hparkJiug and gjad. 
Our young men stood ready to join jn the fray, 
That hung as a pall 'round our people that day. 
Our leaders gazed angry and stei'n on the strife. 
For freedom to them was dearer than life. 
There was mourning at home and death in the street, 
For carnage and famine together did meet. 
The pale lips of hunger w^ere asking for bread, 
While husbands and fathers lay bleeding and dead. 
For day^ we withstood the tempests of wrath, 
That scattered destruction and death in our path, 
Till, broken and peeled, we yielded at last, 
And the glory and strength of our kingdom were past- 
But Zombij our leader, and warlike old chief!, 
Gazed down on our woe with unger and grief; 
The tyrant for him forged fetters in vain, 
His freedom-girt limbs had worn their last chain. 
Defiance and daring still flashed from his eye ; 
A freeman he'd lived and ft-ee he would die. . 
So he climbed to the verge of a dangerous steep. 
Resolved from its margin to take a last leap ; 
For a fearful death and a bloody grave 
Were dea^'er to him than the life of a slave. 
Nor went he alone to the mystic land- 
There were other warriors in his band, 
Wiio rushed with him to Death's dark gate, 
All wrapped in tiic; shroud :(f a moa/i.iii?i fate. 



POEMS. 



LINES TO CHARLES SUMNER. 

Thank God that thou hast spoken 
Words earnest, true and brave, * 

The lightning of thy lips did smite 
The fetters of the slave, 

I thought the shadows deepened, 
Round the pathway of the slave, 

As one by one his faithful friends 
Were dropping in the grave. 

When other hands grew feeble, 
And loosed their hold on life, 

Thy words rang like a clarion 
For freedom's noble strife. 

Thy words were not soft echoes, 
Thy tones no syren song ; 

T^*^v fell as battle-axes 
Uron our giant wrong. 

f ■^•i^d e;''ant thy words of power 
May fall as precious seeds, 

'i'iisit yet shall leaf and blosaomt 
in high and holy d.Qed^.. 



/' E M S. 

'^SIE, WE WOULD SEE JESUS," 

AVe would see Jesus ; earth is grand, 
Flowing out from her Creator's hand. 
Like one who tracks his steps with ll^iit, 
His footsteps ever greet our sight ; 
The earth below, the sky abovCj, 
Are full of tokens of his love ; 
But 'mid the fairest scenes we 've sighed' — 
Our hearts are still unsatisfied. 

We would see Jesus ; proud and high 
Temples and domes have met our eye. 
We 've gazed upon the glorious thoughtj 
By earnest hands in marble wrought, 
And. listened where the flying feet 
Beat time to music, soft and sweet ; 
But bow'rs of ease, and halls of pride, 
Our yearning hearts ne'er satisfied. 

We would see Jesus; we have heard 
Tidings our inmost souls have stirred. 
How, from their chambers full of night, 
The darkened eyes receive the light ; 
How, at the music of his voice, 
The lame do leap, the dumb rejoice. 
Anxious we '11 wait until we 've seen 
Tiie good and gracious ^asarejie. 



POEMS 



THE BRIDE OF DEATH. 

They robed her for another groom 
For her bridal couch, prepared the tomb ; 
From the sunny love of her marriage day 
A stronger rival had won her away ; 
His wooing was like a stern command, 
And cold was the pressure of his hand. 

Through her veins he sent an icy thrill, 
With sudden fear her heart stood still ; 
To his dusty palace tlie bride he led, 
Her guests were the pale and silent dead. 
No eye flashed forth a loving light. 
To greet the bride as she came in sight, 
Not one reached out a joyous hand, 
To welcome her home to the mystic land. 

Silent she sat in the death still hall, 
For her bridal robe she wore a pall ; 
Instead of orange-blossoms fair, 
Willow and cypress wreathed her hair. 
Though" her mother's kiss lay on her c\\x»^, 
Her lips no answering love could speai^., 
No air of life stirred in her breath. 
That fair young girl was the bi'ide ^d v^ac^; 



/ OEMS. 

THANK GOD FOS LITTLE CHILDREN. 

Thank God for little children, 

Bright flowers by earth's wayside. 
The dancing, joyous lifeboats 

Upon life's stormy tide. 

Thank God for little children ; 

Wlien our skies are cold and gray, 
They come as sunshine to our hearts, 

And charm our cares away. 

I almost think the angels. 

Who tend life's garden fair, 
Drop down the sweet wild blossoms 

That bloom around us here. 

It seems a breath of heaven 

Hound many a cradle lies, 
And every little bp^by 

Brings a message from the skies. 

The humblest home with children 

Is rich in precious gems, 
That shame the wealth of monarchs. 

And pale their diadems. 

Dear mothers, guard these jewels, 

As sacred oiferings me€t, 
A wealth of household treasures 

To lay at Jesus' feet. 
2» 



POEMS. 

THE DYING F'UOITIVE, 

Slowly o'er his darkened features 
Stole tlie warning shades of death, 

And we knew the mystic angel 
Waited for his parting breath. 

He had started for his freedom, 
And his heart beat firm and high j 

But before he won the guerdon 
Came the message — lie must die. 

He must die when just before him 
Lay the longed-for precious prize, 

And the hopes that lit him onward 
Faded out before his eyes. 

For awhile a fearful madness 

Rested on his weary brain, 
And he thought the hateful tyrant 

Had rebound his galling chain. 

Then he cried in bitter anguish, 

Take me where that good man dwells 

For a name to freedom precious 
Lingered 'mid life's shattered cells. 

But as sunshine gently stealing 

On the storm-cloud's gloomy track, 

Through the tempests of his bosom 
Came the light of reason back. 



J! O JG i!/ b, 

Aad, without a sigh or murmur 
For the friends he 'd left behind, 

Calmly yielded he his spirit 
To the Father of mankindo 

Thankful that so near to freedom 
He with eager feet had trod, 

Ere his ransom 'd spirit rested 
On the bosom of his Glod. 



BURY ME IN A FREE LAND. 

Make me a grave where'er you will, 
In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill. 
Make it among earth's hum-blest graves, 
But not in a land where men are slaves. 

I could not rest if around my grave 
I heard tiie steps of a trembling slave: 
His shadow above my silent tomb 
Would make it a place of fearful gloom. 

I could not rest if I -heard the tread 
Of a coffie gang to the shambles led, 
And the mother's shriek of wild despair 
Rise like a curse on the trembling air. 



^0 POEMS. 

I could not sleep if I saw the lash 
Driuking her blood at each fearful gash, 
And I saw her babes torn from her breast, 
Like trembling doves from their parent nest. 

I 'd shudder and start if I heard the bay 
Of blood-hounds seizing their human prey, 
And I heard the captive plead in vain 
As they bound afresh his galling chain. 

If I saw young girls from their mothers' arms 
Bartered and sold for their youthful charms. 
My eye would flash with a mournful flame, 
My death-paled cheek grow red with shame. 

I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might 
Can rob no man of his dearest right ; 
My rest shall be calm in any grave 
Where none can call his brother a slave. 

I ask no monument, proud and high, 
To arrest the gaze of the passers by ; 
All that ray yearning spirit craves. 
Is bury ine not in a land of slaves. 



POEMS 



21 



TPIE FREEDOM BELL. 

Ring, aye, ring the freedom bell, 
And let its tones be Ioud*and clear; 

With glad hosannas let it swell 
Until it reach the Bondman's ear. 

Through pain that wrings the life apart, 
And spasms full of deadly strife, 

And throes that shake the nafion's'heart, 
The fainting land renews her life. 

Where shrieks and groans distract the air, 
And sods grow red with crimson rain, 

The ransom'd slave shall kneel in prayer 
And bury deep his rusty chain. 

Where cheeks now pale with sickening dread, 
And brows grow dark with cruel wrath, 

Shall Predom's banner wide be spread 
And Hope and Peace attend her path. 

White-robed and pure her feet shall move 

O'er rifts of ruin deep and wide ; 
Her hands shall span with lasting love 
, The chasms rent by hate and pride. 



22 POEMS. 

Where waters, blusli'd with human gore, 
IJDSuliied streams shall purl along ; 

Where crashed the battle's awful roar 
Shall rise the Freeman's joyful song. 

Then ring, aye, ^ng the freedom bell, 
Proclaiming all the nation free; 

Let earth with sweet thanksgiving swell 
And heaven catch up the melody. 



MARY AT THE FEET OF CHRIST. 

She stood at Jesus' feet, 

And bathed them with her tears, 
While o'er her spirit surg'd 

The guilt and shame of years. 

Though Simon saw the grief 

Upon the fair young face, 
The stern man coldly thought 

For her this is no place. 

Her feet have turned aside 

From paths of truth and right, 

If Christ a prophet be 

He'M spurn her from his sight. 



POEMS, 

And silently lie watelied 
The child of sin and care, 

Uocoil upon Christ's feet 
Her wealth of raven hair, 

Life ! she sadly thought, 

I know thy bane and blight^, 
And yet I fain would find 
The path of peace and right. 

1 Ve seen the leper cleansedj 

I Ve seen the sick made wholt 
But mine ^s a deeper wound- 
It eats into the soul. 

And men have trampled down 
The beauty once their prize^ 

While wom^en pass me by 
With cold, averted eyes. 

But now a hope of peace 
Steals o'er my weary breastj 

And from these lips of love 
There comes a sense of rest. 

The tender, loving Christ 

Gazed on her tearful eyes^ 
Then saw on Simon's face 

A look of cold sui^rise. 



I' OEMS. 

"SiraoD," the Saviour said, 
" Thou wast to me remiss, 

I came tby guest, but thou 
Didst give no welcome kiss. 

'' Thou broughtest from thy f( linl 
No water cool and sweet, 

But she, with many tears, 

Hath bent and kissed my feet. 

" Thou pouredst en my head 
"No oil with kindly care, 

But she anoints my feet, 

And wipes them with her hair. 

** I know her steps have strayed, 
Her sins they many be, 

But she with love hath bound 
Her erring heart to me." 

How sweetly fell his words 
Upon her bruised heart. 

When, like a ghastly train, 
She felt her sins depart. 

What music heard on earth, 
Or rapture moving heaven 

Were like those precious words-— 
" Th^ sins are all forgiven I" 



X L' ti in i3. 



THE MOTHER'S BLESSING, 

Oh, my soul had grov/n so weary 
With its maoy cares opprest, 

All my heart's -high aspirations 
Languished in a prayer, for rest 

I was like a loiiely stranger 

Finiog io a distant land, 
Bearing on her lips a laoguage 

None around her understand. 

Longing for a close communion 

With some kindred mind and heart. 

But whose language is a jargon 
Past her skill, and past her arto 

God in Eflercy looked upon me, 

Saw my fainting, pain and strife, , 
Sent to me a blest evangel, 

Through the gates of light and iif@. 

Then my desert leafed and blossomed, 
Beauty decked its deepest wild^ 

Hope and joy, peace and blessings 
Met me in mv first-born child. 



POEMS. 

When the tiny hands, so feeblej 
Brought me smiles and joyful tears, 

Lifted from, my life the shadows, 
That had gathered there for years. 

God, I t'hank thee for the blessing 
That at last has crowned my life, 

Soothed its weary, lonely anguish, 
Stayed its fainting, calm'd its strife. 

Gracious Parent ! guard and shelter 
In thine arms my darling child 

Till she treads the streets of jasperj 
Glorified and un defiled. 



VASHTI. 

She leaned her head upon her hand 
And heard the king's decree— 

" My lords are feasting in my halls, 
Bid Vashti come to me. 

" I Ve shown the treasures of my house^ 

My costly jewels rare, 
But with the glory of her eyes 

No rubies can compare. 



FOE3IS. 27 

"Adorn'd and crown'd IM have her come, 

With all her queenly grace, 
And, 'mid my lords and mighty men, 
Unveil her lovely face. 

'^ Each gem that sparkles in my crown, 

Or glitters on ray throne, 
Grows poor and pale when she appears, 

My beautiful, my own !" 

All waiting stood the chamberlains 

To hear the Queen's reply, 
They saw her cheek grow deathly pale, 

But light flash'd to her eye : 

" Go, tell the King," she proudly said, 

** That I am Persia's Queen, 
And by his crowds of merry men 

I never will be seen. 

" I '11 take the crown from off my head 

And tread it 'neath my feet 
Before their rude and careless gaze 

My shrinking eyes shall meet. 

" A queen unveil'd before the crowd I— 

Upon each lip my name !-— 
Why, Persia's women all would blush 

And weep for Vashti's shame I 



roEMS: 

"Go back I" she cried, and waived her hand, 

And grief was in her eye : 
" Go, tell the King," she sadly said, 

" That I would rather die." 

They brought her message to the King, 

Dark fiash'd his angry eye ; 
'T was as the lightning ere the storm 

Hath s^vep^ ' i fury by. 

Then bitterly outspoke the King, 
Through purple lips of wTath-— 

"What shall be done to, her wiio dares 
To cross your monarch's path ?'* 

Then spake his wily counsellors— 

" O King of this fair land ! 
From distant Ind to Ethiop, 

Ail bow to thy command. 

"But if, before thy servants' eyes, 

This thing they plainly see, 
That Vashti doth not heed thy will 

Nor yield herself to thee, 

" The women, restive 'neath our rule, 
Would learn to scorn our name, 

And from her deed to us would come 
Keproach and burning shame. 



POEMS. 

" Theiij gracious King, sign with thy hand 

This stern but just decree, 
That Vashti lay aside her -crown, 

Thy Queen no more to be.". 

She heard again the King's command. 

And left her high estate, 
Strong in her earnest womanhood, 

She calmly met her fate, 

And left the palace of the King, 
Proud of her spotless name — ■ 

A woman who could bend to grief, 
But would not bow to shame. 



THE CHANGE, 

The blue sky arching overhead, 
The green turf 'neath my daily tread, 
All glorified by freedom's light, 
Grow fair and lovely to my sight. 

The very winds that sweep along 
Seemed burdened w^ith a lovely song, 
Nor shrieks nor groans of grief or fear, 
Float (jn their wings and pain my ear, 



50 ^ OEMS. 

Ng more with dull and aching breast, 

Koiised by the horn — I rise from rest 
Content and cheerful with my lot, 
I greet the sun and leave my cot. 

For darling child and loving wife 
I toil with newly waken'd life ; 
The light that lingers round her smile 
The. shadows from my soul beguile. 

Tlie prattle of my darling boy 
Fills my old heart with untold joy ; 
Before his laughter, mirth and song 
Fade out long scores of grief and wrong. 

Oh, never did the world appear 

So loveij to my eye and ear, 

'Till Freedom came, wath Joy and Peace, 

And bade my hateful bondage cease! 



THE DYING MOTHEK. 

IV 

Come nearer to me, husband, 

Now the aching leaves my breast, 

But my eyes are dim and weary, 
And to-night I fain would rest. 



POEMS. 

Clasp me closer to your bosom 
Ere I calmly sleep in death ; 

With your arms enfolded round me 
I would yield my parting breath. 

Bring me now my darling baby, 
God's own precious gift of love, 

Tell her^he must meet her mother 
In the brightei world above. 

When her little feet grow stronger 

To walk life's paths untrod. 
That earnest; true and hopeful, 

She ro.ust lay her hands on God. 

Tell my other little children 
They must earl}'- seek His face ; 

That His love is a strong tower, 
And His arms a hiding place. 

Tell them — but my voice grows fainter- 
Surely, husband, this is death — ■ 

Tell them that their dying mother 
Bless'd them with her latest breath. 



FO EMS 



WORDS FOR THE^^HOUR. 

Men of the Nortli ■ it is no time 

To quit the battle-lit ^Id ; 
When dagger fronts your rear and van 

It is no time to yield. 

No time to beiul the battle's crest 

Before the wily fo^':;. 
And, ostrich-like, to hide your heads 

From tile impending blew. 

The iiiiiiiong of a baffled wroiig 
Are marshalling their claa, 

Hise up I TMe up, enchanted Nortli I 
And strike for God and man. 

This is BO time for careless ease ; 

No time for idle sleep ; 
Go light tlie. fires in every camp. 

And solemn sentries keep. 

The foe ye foiled upon the 'Held 
Has only changed his base ; 

J*few dangers crowd around j(m 
Aiid stare you in the fac«i. 



O Northern men ! within yo'ir hao-ds 

Is held no common trust ; 
Secure the victories won by blood 

When treason bit the dust. 

'T is yours to banish from the land 

Oppression's iron rule ; -m 

And o'er the ruin'd auction-block 
Erect the common school. 

To wipe from labor's branded brow 

The curse that shamed the land ; ^ 
And teach the Freedman how to wield 

The ballot in his hand. 

This is the nation's golden hour, 

Nerve every heart and hand, 
To build on Justice, as a rock, 
The future of the land. 

True to your trust, oh, never yield 

One citadel of right I 
With Truth and Justice clasping hands 

Ye yet shall win the fight ! 



^^S"*^ 



FOE M ;s. 



PRESIDENT LmCOLN'S PROCLAMATION 
OF FREEDOM. 

It shall flash through coming ages ; 

It shall light the distant years ; 
And eyes now dim with sorrow 

Shall be clearer through their tears. 

It shall flush the mountain ranges ; 

And the valleys shall grow bright; 
It shall bathe the hills in radiance, 

Aiid crown their brows with light. 

It shall flood with golden splendor 

All the huts of Caroline, 
And the sun-kissed brow of labor 

With lustre new shall shine. 

It shall gild the gloomy prison, 
Darken'd by the nation's x^rime, 

Where the dumb and patient millions 
Wait the better coming time. 

By the light that gilds their prison, 
They shall seize its mould'ring key, 

And the bolts and bars shall vibrate 
With the triumphs of the free. 



Like the dim and ancient chaoSj 
Shrinking- from the dawn of ligbtj 

Oppression, grim and hoary, 
Shall cower at the sight. 

And her spawn of lies and malice 

Shall grovel in the dustj 
While joy shall thrill the bosoms 

Of the merciful and just. 

Though the morning seemed to linger 
O'er the hill-tops far away, 

Now the shadows bear the promise 
Of the quickly coming day. 

Soon the mists and murky shadows 
Shall be fringed with crimson light. 

And the glorioufi dawn of freedom 
Break refulgent on the sight. 



TO A BABE SMILING IN HER SLEEP. 

Tell me, did the angels greet thee?. • 
Greet my darling whe^i she smiled ? 

Did they whisper, softly, gently, 
Pleasant thoughts unto my child? 






i.'id thej whisper, 'mid thy dreaFj)ii]^ 
Thoughts that made thy spirit glad 

Of the joy-lighteci city. 

Where the heart is Bever sad ? ■ 

Did they tell thee of the foaB tains 
Clear as crystal^ fair as lights 

And the glojy-brighteaed eonntry^ 
Never shaded by a night ? 

Of lifers piire^ pellucid river, 

And the tree whose leaves do yield 

Healing for the wounded nations — 
Nations smitten, bruised aad peeled 

Of the city, ruby-foimded, 

Built on gems of llashiDg light, 

Paling all earth's lustrous jewels, 
And the gates of pearly white ? 

Darling, when life's shadows deepen 
Kound thy prison-house of clay, 

May the footsteps of G oil's ingels 
Ever linger rou i4 Ox^^ n-sy 



P E M S. 

THE AKTIST. 

He stood before liis finished work • 
His heart beat warm aiul high ; 

But they who gazed upon tiie youiii 
Knew well that he must die. 

For many days a fever fierce 

Had burned into his life ; 
But full of hi^h impassioned art, 

He bore the fearful strife. 

And wmnght in extacy and hope 

The image of his brain ; 
He felt the death throes at his heart, 

'But labored through the pain. 

The statue seemed to glow w'ith life — 

A costly work of art ; 
For it he paid the fervent blood 

From his own eager heart. 

With kindling qjq and flushing cheek 
But slowly laboring breath, 

He gazed upon his finished work, 
Then sought his couch of death.\ 

And when the plaudits of the crowd 
Came like the south wind's breath, 

The dreamy, gifted child of art 
Had closed his eyes in death. 

4 



SH P O E k !i. 

JESUS, 

Come speak to me of Jesus., 
I love that precious nanve, 

Who built a throne of po\Vk-r 
Upon a cross of shame. 

Unveil to me the beauty 
That glorifies his face — 

The fullness of the Father— 
The image of his grace. 

My soul would run to meet Him j 
Restrain me not with creeds ; 

For Christ, the hope of glory, 
Is what my spirit needs. 

I need the grand attraction. 
That centres 'round the cioss, 

To change the gilded things of earth, 
To emptiness and dross. 

My feet are pi out. to wander, 

My eyes to turn aside, 
And yet I fain would linger, 

With Christ the crucified. 

I want a faith that 's able 

To stand each storm and shock — 

A faith forever rooted, 
In Christ the living Rock, 



r EM s. 

FIFTEENTH AMENDMENT, 

Beneath the burden of our joy 

Tremble, O wires, from East to West ! 

Fashion with words your tongues of fire, 
To tell the nation's high behest. 

Outstrip the winds, and leave behind 
The murmur of the restless waves ; 

Nor tarry with your glorious news, 
Amid the ocean's coral caves. 

Ring out! ring out! your sweetest chimes, 
Ye bells, that call to prayer and praise ; 

Let every heart with gladness thrill, 
And songs of joyful triumph raise. 

Shake off the dust, O rismg race ! 

Crowned as a brother and a man ; 
Justice to-day asserts her claim, 

And from thy brow fades out the ban. 

With freedom's chrism upon thy head, 
Her precious ensign in thy hand, 

Go place thy once despised name 
Amid the noblest of the land, 

O ransonjed race! give God the praise, 
Who 'ed thee through a crimson sea. 

And 'mid the storm of fire and blood, 
Turned out the war-cloud's light to thee. 



40 POEMS. 

RETRIBUTION. 

Judgment slumbered. God in mercy 
Stayed his strong avengmg hand; 

Sent them priests and sent Ihem prophets, 
But they would not understand. 

Judgment lingered ; men, grown bolder, 
Gloried in their shame and guilt ; 

And the blood of God's poor children 
Was as water freely spilt. 

Then arose a cry to heaven, 

Deep and startling, sad and wild, 

Sadder than the wail of Egypt, 
Mourning for the first-born child. 

For the sighing of the needy 

God at length did bare his hand, 

And the -footsteps of his judgments 
Echoed through the guilty land. 

Oh ! the terror, grief and anguish ; 

Oh ! the bitter, fearful strife. 
When the judgments of Jehovah 

Pressed upon the nation's life. 

And the land did reel and tremble 
'Neath the terror of his frown, 

For its guilt lay heavy on it, 
Pressing like an iron crown. 



FOE MS. 



As a warning- to the nations. 

Bathed m blood and swathed in iirOj 
Lay the once oppressing nation, 

Smitten by God's fearful ire. 



THE SIN O'F ACHAN. 

Wight closed o'er the battl'ing army. 
But 'A bn3>ught them bo success ; 

Victory perched not on their banners ; 
Night V!/a& full of weariness. 

Flushed and hopeful in the morning., 
Turned they frora their Reader's side : 

Houted, smittea and defeated^ 
Came they back at eventide.. 

Then in words of bitter mourning 

Joshua's voice soon arose : 
*' Tell us, O thoo God of Jacob, . 

Why this triumph of our foes ?" 

To his pleading came the answer 
Why the hosts in fear did yield : 

** 'Twas because a fearful trespass 
'Mid their tents did lie concealed/^ 



42 POEMS. 

Clear and plain before His vision, 
With whom darkness is as light, 

Lay the spoils that guilty Achan ' 
Covered from his brethren's sight 

From their tents they purged the evil 
That had ruin round them spread ; 

Then they won the field of battle, 
Whence they had in terror fled. 

Through the track of many ages 
Comes this tale of woe and crime; 

Let us read it as a lesson 

And a warning for our time. 

Oh, for some strong-hearted Joshua I 
Faithful to his day and time, 

Who will wholly rid the nation 
Of her clinging curse and crime. 

Till she writes on every banner 
All beneath these folds are free, 

And the "oppressed and groaning millions 
Shout the nation's Jubilee. 



POEMS. 

LINES TO MILES O'REILEY. 

You've heard no doubt of Irish bulls, 
And how they blunder, thick and fast ; 

But of all the queer and foolish things, 
O'Reiley, you have said the last. 

You say we brought the rebs supplies, 
And gave them aid amid the fight, 

And if you must be ruled by rebs, 

Instead of black you want them white. 

You blame us that we did not rise, 
And pluck war from a fiery brand, 

When Little Mac said if we did. 
He'd put us down with iron hand. 

And when we sought to join your ranks. 
And battle with you, side by side. 

Did men not curl their lips with scorn, 
And thrust us back with hateful pride? 

And when at last* we gained the field. 
Did we not firmly, bravely s,tand, 

And help to tarn the tide of death, 
That spread it-^ .min o'er the land ? 

We hardly think »vc re worse than those 
Who kindled up this fearful strife, 

Because we did not seize the chance 
To murder helpless babes and wife. 



44 ^ E h S. 

And had we struck, with vengeful hand. 
The rebel where he most could feel, 

Were you not ready to impale 

Our hearts upon your Northern steel ? 

O'Roiley, men like you should wca-r 

The gift of song like some bright crov/n, 

Nor worse than ruffians of the ring, 
Strike at a man because he 's down. 



THE LITTLE BUILDERS. 

Ye are builders little builders, 
Not with mortar, brick and stone, 

But your work is fffr more glorious — 
Ye are building freedom's throne. 

Where the ocean never slumbers 
Works the coral 'neath the spray, 

By and by a reef or island 

Rears its head to greet the day 

T))t*n the balmy rains and sunshine 
Scatter treasures o'er the soil, 

Till a place for. human footprints, 
Crown the little builder's toil. 



FOFMS. 45 

When the stately ships sweep o'er therc, 

Cresting all the sea v/ith foam, 
Little think these patient toilers, 

They are building man a home. 

Do you ask me, precious children, 
How your little hands can build. 

That you love the name of freedom, 
But your fingers are unskilled ? 

Not on thrones or in proud temples, 

Does fair freedom seek her rest ; 
No, her chosen habitations, 

Are the hearts that love her best. 

Would you gain the highest freedom ? 

Live for God and man alone, 
Then each heart in freedom's temple, 

Will be like a living stone. 

Fill your minds with useful knowledge, 
Learn to love the true and right ; 

Thus you'll build the throne of freedom, 
On a pedestal of light. 



f^^^C\ 



POEMS. 



THE DYING CHILD TO HER BUND 
FATHER. 



Dear father, I hear a whisper, 
It tells me that I must go, 

And ray heart returns her answer 
In throbbiup-s so faint and low. 



'to*- 



I'm sorry to leave you, father, 

I know you will miss me so, 
And the world for you will gather 

A gloomier shade of woe. 

You will miss me, dearest father, 
When the violets wake from sleep, 

And timidly from their hedges 
The early snow-drops peep, 

I shall not be here to gather 
The flowers by stream and dell. 

The bright and beautiful flower?.. 
Dear Father, you love so ^vi)i[. 

Y'^ou will miss my voice, dear tather, 

From every earthly toae, 
All the songs that dieered your darkness^ 

And you % be so md and kftie. 



POEMS, 

1 can scarcely rejoice, dear father, 
In hope of the brighter land, 

When I know you 'il pine in sadness. 
And miss my guiding hand. 

Yc'ii are weepings dearest father, 
Your sobs are shaking my soul, 

But we'll meet again where the shadow 
And night from your eyes shall rolL 

And then you will see me, father, 
With visions undimmed and clear, 

Your eyes will sparkle with rapture— 
You know there 's no blindness there. 



LIGHT IN DAKKNESS. 

We've room to build holy altars 
Where our crumbling idols lay ; 

We 'to room for heavenly visions, 
When our earth dreams fsi.de awaj» 

Through rifts and rents in our fortune 
We gazed with blinding tears, 

Till glimpses of light and beauty 
Gilded our gloomy fears. 



F E M ^, 

An ar.gel stood at oar threshold. 
We thought him a child of night, 

Till we saw the print of his steps 
Made lines of living light. 

We had muck the world calls precious ; 

We had heaps of shining dust ; 
He laid his hand- on our treasiires, 

And wrote on them moth and rusL 

But still we had other treasures. 
That gold was too poor to buy, 

We clasped them closer and closer, 
But saw them fade and die. 

Our spirit grew faint and he' vy, 
Deep shadows lay on our ^ars, 

Till light from the holy cit^ 

Streamed through our mist of tears„ 

And we thanked the chastening angel 
Who shaded our earthly light, 

For the light and beautiful visions 
That broke on our clearer sight. 

Our first view of the Holy City 
Came through our darken'd years, 

The songs that lightened our sorrov/s, 
We heard 'raid our niglit of tears. 



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